Princess
by Docrem
Summary: Moira. One shot.  Finding herself denied of a restful sleep, the young former princess of Ironforge takes a walk.


Ironforge never quite slept. The glow of the forge, the heart of the city of the dwarves, was eternal. There was a constant buzz of noise from the Great Forge. There was the sound of hot metal being struck against anvils. There was the sound of the large bellows pumping behind the smiths. There was also the sound of soft voices and grunts; of the dwarves so deeply involved in their work. Those who lived in the forge called it The Lullaby. Children born and raised in this section of the grand mountain-city found comfort in the noise and often found it difficult to find comfort when parted from the sound of The Lullaby.

It was an odd night that even the familiar lullaby could not comfort Moira Thaurissan. Something weighed heavily on her mind as her toddler son slumbered in his cradle. The little half Dark Iron slept heavily, having a full belly of milk and sweets. Under his chubby little arm was a stuffed ram. It was worn with love and the once-dopey face was wearing thin. Moira made a mental note to have new buttons sewn on to serve as eyes. Nothing was quite as frightening as a child noticing stitches for eyes on a doll. It reminded her of torture within Shadowforge City. Glancing at the ram for another moment, a shiver went up her spine.

Unable to lay down any longer, Moira stirred from bed. She reached for a simple robe and threw it over her shoulders. She reached for her brush at her bedside and began to brush her unbraided chestnut locks. She felt like a child in this old room. Many nightmares were had in this room. Many happy moments were had, as well, but for some reason, the nightmares stood out the most. She sighed softly and ran her stubby fingers through her soft hair. Her head turned to look over at little Dagran again. The boy could sleep through anything. It was a blessing. He hadn't been jarred by the exodus to Ironforge nor the tearing apart of Azeroth's lands before that. He was a normal child, despite his oddly colored skin. He enjoyed simple things, such as sitting in his mother's lap, playing with his toys, and having sweet pastries placed on his tongue to sample.

"My son is more loved than I am." Moira whispered in the darkness. Her eyes, for once, smiled as she did. "Good."

He had caught the fancy of many maids within the royal delving. They often pinched at his chubby cheeks and tickled his toes. He fancied a young Bronzebeard maid, himself. Moira had remembered her as a companion chosen specially for her as a child. A good friend, even through the chaos that Moira had allowed to occur within Ironforge during her brief seizure of power. The dwarf was now Dagran's nurse and she seemed to enjoy the job. Dagran took to the maid like an aunt and happily babbled to her at every moment. She and Moira did not speak as much, but she was often watching the council from the shadows, ready for any command. A good lass.

Dagran would be well-educated within Ironforge. He would be protected. One day, he would rule over the Bronzebeards and Dark Irons. It would be a major step towards unification. But for what? Now, Moira wasn't even too sure what she wanted from such an arrangement. She could have stayed within Blackrock Mountain and ally herself with the cultists. She could have had Dagran rule over the Dark Irons under her watchful gaze and never bothered with Ironforge again. They had abandoned her, after all. She was the spoiled princess that broke her father's heart to run off to the sorcerer-thane Thaurissan.

The idea made her rage for a moment. She furiously tied her robe shut. The fabric was so tight that Moira felt her breath leave her. Quickly, she fiddled with the tie in order to give herself room to breathe. "Temper." Moira scolded herself. "Temper temper. What good are you doing for yourself? Your mother's temper."

She honestly didn't know of her mother's temper. It was something uttered to her by the advisors in her childhood. She had never met the esteemed Queen, herself. She had only heard stories of her mother's beauty, wit, and tongue. Never once had her father uttered her name in Moira's presence, nor had he even made reference that the lass had once graced the halls of Ironforge. It was as if the princess had been hewn from stone and modeled after the dwaven woman, rather than having been born. She was a fleeting ghost that the little princess could never quite chase. With no pictures of the queen to remember her by, or sweet mementos that mothers often passed down to their children, Moira had always felt so lost.

Pacing about the room, Moira decided to finally take her leave. Her son continued to sleep. If he cried, there were maids about at this hour. They could handle his fussing. Right now, the Regent Queen of the Dark Irons needed her own moment to think. Far away from the demands of the council, Moira slipped down the dimly lit halls. She nodded politely to the servants and workers within the royal Bronzebeard halls at this midnight hour. Most did not nod back, as they were very shocked at this sudden kindness within Moira. Her hair flew behind her as she moved into the empty throne room. Her uncle was often the last dwarf to retire for the night. He had likely left not too long ago. Outside lay the forge.

From where she stood, the young mother could feel the heat. While the humans often found themselves staggering and sweating, to a dwarf, the warmth of the forge was like a friendly embrace and kiss on the cheek. The orange glow lightened the features on Moira's face. She could see someone beside her. A specter of the past. It looked like her father, placing a hand on her shoulder while showing her the forge. An old goodnight ritual.

"The forge sleeps for none. It is the heart of Ironforge. But you, princess, must sleep."

Moira opened her mouth, recalling her childish pleas to remain awake a bit longer.

"The hour is late, my precious jewel. Tomorrow will be busy."

Moira quickly corrected herself and shut her mouth. She pulled her robe more tightly against her nightgown and sighed. Busy, yes. The next day was busier than the last. Rarely did she see Magni. He was listening to the problems of his people. He was busy sending soldiers to problem areas. It seemed as if she never had time to speak to him. It was only Winter Veil when she really got to enjoy her father's company. He would speak of his duties. When Moira would ask about these duties with interest, Magni would simply laugh. A princess had no business having her nose in politics. A princess should be quiet and sit by her father until she had a husband to sit beside and be just as quiet for. She had never been fond of that thinking. It often led her to fight with her tutors. Teach me of war, teach me of people, teach me of history! But that is not for a princess to learn. Languages, music, and manners are what you must learn.

Though King Magni's daughter had her mother's temper and tongue, she had her father's will. It could not be argued. When Moira wanted something, she would get it. Secretly, she would study at all hours to educate herself. She wanted to be more than an idle princess. She wanted to be more than what was expected of a dwarves woman. Perhaps she could influence other lasses, too. She could give smaller children hope that their fate was not to be a silent housewife. Though that life was fine, it would be only fine if she demanded it so.

Moira turned and tapped gently on one of the massive stone doors within the throne room. The door groaned and moved open enough to allow Moira entry. She padded along quietly. The coolness of the stone tickled at her bare feet. Her toes curled as she walked along the ancient and dusty passageways. Through the quietness of it all, she heard her father speak again.

"What's this nonsense, Moira? These books! What do you think you're trying to accomplish."

"I can be just as good as a son." Moira replied to the invisible Magni. She remembered that fight well.

"You can never be a son, Moira. It is not your place."

"Why don't you give me a chance, Daddy?"

Like in the past, there was no answer. Just the sound of a disappointed child. Moira shuddered and shook her head. She had frightened herself. Perhaps she hadn't so quickly forgotten whey she left Ironforge. The Dark Iron emperor had came to her one night. Not in person, but in an image within her vanity. It had been an accident, a wrong turn. Though he struggled to ignore the young princess about to dress for bed, the image lingered longer to chat.

He hadn't patronized her. He was kind and soft. He was many years her senior, but there was a sparkle within those red, glowing eyes that only Moira noticed. What had been a mistake and a misguided attempt to harass a Dark Iron refugee hiding within the walls of Ironforge sparked a sort of friendship. She spent many nights waiting for the image to appear in her mirror. She would sit there, dressing for bed as they spoke warmly. He longed for the sunlight. She longed for respect. They seemed to strike up an instant friendship.

Five years ago, after only a short time of correspondence, the sorcerer-thane Dagran Thaurissan encouraged Moira to run away to a place where she could be respected.

"But my father."

"He doesn't deserve a bright princess. If you don't like it here, you can go home. Maybe it'll do the old fool some good to be worried about something more precious!" His words were half malice, yet the other half seemed more like a question to gain Moira's approval. Years of being brushed away had caused her bitterness. Her heart still ached that her father would never take her as seriously as a son, a grand warrior in the making, would have ever been. Moira wished in that moment, she had been born a male and all thoughts of a heir would be pushed away. Yet the fondness for her close friendship with Dagran seemed to sway her. He knew more. Perhaps this time away could turn her into a proper ruler. One to finally make King Magni proud.

The plan was set. While representing Ironforge to the people of Redridge, Moira would be abducted and brought to Shadowforge City. Though it would have been a chance to demonstrate the skills she had taught herself through secret study, the idea of instant respect within the walls of the Dark Iron city was more enticing.

Stopping to look up into the diamond caverns of the old section of Ironforge, Moira wondered if she had made the right choice. Had falling in love with Emperor Thaurissan been a mistake? Through her son, she could unite two of the dwarven clans while finding a way to somehow sway the Wildhammers. It would be a legacy that would be written alongside of her father and the likes of Modimus Anvilmar and Khadros Wildhammer. What had exactly moved her to do what she had done? She wasn't sure anymore. Though it was true, a fire burned within her at the murder of the emperor. Love was complicated and often unkind. He had loved her and desired her company night after night. They spoke of many things and argued pleasantly over what was right for dwarvenkind. He had truly loved her and commanded the respect of his people to accept his queen. All she had left was their son. The little boy gave her unspeakable joy.

There was never a moment he took her for granted. Moira missed him terribly. Though he had taught her a cruel way to rule over the dwarves, that was business in Shadowforge. In a city of chaos, one had to squash trouble quickly. It didn't work in Ironforge. Moira knew that and by her own, private admission, she should have known better.

Descending the stairs, she bowed her head to each guard. They watched her strangely as she moved along. Careful so not to cut her feet, Moira danced around the shards of diamond that left a trail to her father.

The fiery rage she felt at remembering the loss of her husband was instantly cooled by the pained look of her father. This place was a tomb now. Many dwarves passed through to give their respects, but this was the first time Moira had seen her father since she had left five years ago. She had not thought of coming home to this sight. She quickly turned away and sat herself on the top of the stairs.

"Hello Daddy."

There was no response. The only thing was a feeling of dread lingering over Moira. She half-imagined the diamond body of her father sprouting to life and yelling at her. She curled up and brought her knees to press against her chest.

"…Are you proud of me? No. I don't imagine so, Daddy."

There was only her voice.

"I did everything you never believed I could do."

She looked down at her toes and let out a sigh.

"Daddy…You're not going to answer me." Her voice became small, sheepish, and depressed. "Why…? I know why. You know why. You'd think I'd be happy that we can't fight anymore."

At last, Moira turned to face the statue. She stood and stared at her father. Her heart hurt. The strong dwarf she remembered would forever be immortalized in agony as he became "one with the mountain". Despite their differences, she felt offended that her father would be seen in such a way. It was undignified. He was a strong and proud king. He wasn't the poor, miserable being she saw before her. Moira walked towards Magni. The shards of stone and diamond pricked at the bottoms of her feet, drawing a small amount of blood.

Suddenly, she raised her fist, as if to smash the king. The fist fell short and became a gentle, caressing hand that lovingly took attention to King Magni's pained features.

"I don't hate you, Daddy. I hope you know that. I hope you can understand."

Tears rolled down Moira's pale cheeks. "I wish I could hate you. It would make saying goodbye easier."

For an extra hour, Moira stood there in silence. Slowly, she turned away to leave the king to rest. 


End file.
